


Promptfic Blitz 1

by Maybethings



Series: May Be Promptin' [26]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Bad Puns, Cockroaches, Drabble, F/M, Multi, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of collected short promptfics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alistair, Sten - templars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cherith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherith/gifts).



“Qunari don’t have templars?”

“None like you,” Sten says, and that’s as diplomatic as he’ll ever get. “Our mages are led in packs by the  _arvaarad_ : ‘those who hold back evil’. Without them they are even more beasts than man.”

“So they  _are_  like templars!”

“They are not. They are more of—that.” Sten points away from the fire, where the Warden is reprimanding their Mabari for eating a week’s worth of supplies out of someone’s pack. The hound looks suitably chastened by the furious tirade.

“What?! Surely not,” Alistair says with a nervous laugh. He can never tell when the Qunari is joking.  _If_  he ever jokes. “I mean, even your mages don’t leave ‘presents’ in your shoes, surely?”

“You haven’t seen enough mages, then.”


	2. Arishok, random Kirkwall urchin - pastries

The thief didn’t have a chance—the moment his nimble fingers brushed against the Arishok’s money pouch, the man shot out one arm and lifted him off the ground. He squealed like a piglet. He certainly looked like one.

“Where I come from, boy, we cut the hands from thieves,” he said with the faintest hint of a growl. It was enough to silence him. “Now what is that at your belt?”

“T-tarts, ser,” stammered the urchin. His nose was starting to dribble. “I’ll give ‘em to you if you let me down. Please let me down! You can have ‘em all!”

Some distant recollection stirred in the Arishok. He stared the boy down just long enough to bring him to the verge of tears, then nodded. The boy dropped the pouch of tarts into his other hand, and once his little feet touched the ground, fled without a backwards glance.

The Arishok squinted suspiciously at the little golden rounds of dough, then tasted. Moist, buttery, fruity goodness filled his mouth, the likes of which he had never tasted in all his years. So,  _this_  was what the Sten’s report had spoken of.


	3. Aveline/Isabela - those words you said

“Big girl, are you  _trying_  to mess with my reputation?”

“What?” Aveline looked up from her drink and at Isabela, currently leaning over the table and looking rather irritated.

“Heard on the street you’ve been telling people to watch their crops. Something about yours truly.”

“…Isabela, I said  _hoarfrost was coming._ ”


	4. Dog, [m!Hawke] - visiting the Qunari compound

Hawke had become a familiar face at the Qunari compound by now, but his mabari was a different story. “Leave your hound at the gates,” the guard said with a touch of suspicion.

“Stay, Chas,” he ordered, and went to see what the Arishok wished of him. Chas faithfully folded his paws under his chin and waited.

When he returned, the kossith was rough-housing with the mabari: rubbing Chas’ belly, scratching his ears and growling foreign words in a tone that surpassed all linguistic barriers. When he finally saw Hawke, he swore the ox-man flinched backwards.

“…You will tell none of what you saw here, bas,” he growled as he dusted his hands off on his trousers. Chas wagged his tail a mile a minute, tongue lolling out in friendly bliss.

Hawke never did speak of that day again. But he did start thinking that it might be possible to work with the Qunari after all.


	5. Isabela/Maraas - join my crew

“I am not one for causes. And I am no random killer.”

“I don’t have a cause. Just adventure on the high seas. And frankly, big guy, people brown their smallclothes just looking at you. Nobody gets killed unless they really, really deserve it.”

Maraas pondered this, then sighed his assent. “Let me know when you have something that needs doing. We will talk then.”

“I had something in mind…but I wasn’t thinking of talking, exactly.” She slipped lithely around his seat, trailing her fingers under his chin. Her touch smelled of beer, adventure and a spice he could not place. Quietly, he rose from his chair and trailed her.

He always was one for action over talk.


	6. Leliana, Zevran, fingertips

“You have such lovely fingers,” Leliana cooed as Zevran tried his hand at tuning her lute. “What happened to that one on the left, though?”

“Oh, this?” Zevran held the crooked digit up in a borderline-obscene gesture. “It is a long story. Suffice it to say a master Crow broke it during my training. It never set quite right.”

“Oh dear!”

“It does not prevent me from holding a knife or a bow, though—and you should see what else it does behind closed doors,” he quipped. Leliana scowled in exasperation. He playfully leered back.


	7. Sten, Wynne - knit scarf

“What is this?” Sten asked brusquely, staring down at the long length of fabric the elder mage had placed in his hands.

“A scarf,” Wynne said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I couldn’t find enough wool to make a cloak, but at least this will keep your neck warm. Can’t have you catching a chill.”

“‘Catch’ a chill? The cold sits and clings like leeches. If you must speak, use proper words.” He held it out, drawing the fabric tight for a moment. “…This would make an adequate garrote.”

“A garrote with little flowers on it.”

“Everything is a weapon in the hands of a Qunari.” He would just have to remember to keep the little flowers and tassels away from any blood.


	8. Sten, Zevran - pest infestation

As they crept through the Brecilian ruins, Zevran heard a familiar snarl behind him, and then a series of sharp crunches. Seconds after, Sten stormed past, leaving damp, sticky bootprints behind.

“Curious, Sten. You fight giant spiders, yet it is the little bugs that put fear into you?”

“I do not fear these forest cockroaches,” Sten said much more vehemently than he strictly had to. “But at least when you chop a spider’s head off, it stops moving.”


End file.
